


Finally Home

by mikovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fic, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikovich/pseuds/mikovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's back from war- except something is a little wrong. But it's okay because Mickey's here to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt I got from wellcome2procrastination-nation on tumblr. Thank you for the PTSD prompt! I did some research and enjoyed writing this!

Mickey swallowed hard, practically gulped when men and women in uniform started entering the airport from the tiny tunnel marked A09.

Lip had asked him hours before if he was excited that Ian was coming home today; all Mickey did was mutter a “Fuck off” and the conversation was over. Lip had smiled at him like he could see through Mickey; like he could see what that fuck off really meant- _I’m ecstatic._ Fuckin’ Gallaghers.

Mickey could feel every nerve in his body when Fiona slug her arm around his shoulders with a smile.

He felt everything… because in that moment Mickey Milkovich wanted to run. He wanted to run because there his soldier was, with his red hair flaming and his smile bright. He wanted to run into those dumb freckled arms and tell him to never fucking leave him again.

But he couldn’t because god dammnit he was a Milkovich and Milkoviches didn’t do that type of shit.

Debbie ran though; she sobbed dark spots onto Ian’s tan army colored shirt while he laughed and said he missed her too. All the Gallaghers enveloped Ian while Mickey stood awkwardly with his hands in his front pockets a few feet away.

“Woah, who is that grumpy guy over there?” The voice Mickey hadn’t really heard for 4 years spoke.

“Ay, who’s that tough lookin’ jerk off?” Mickey replied with smirk on his lips.

Ian and Mickey quickly wrapped a single arm around each other, patting each other’s backs a couple times.

His soldier was finally home.

\--

Ian dropped the hunter green duffle on his bed and plopped down next to it. He looked around taking his childhood bedroom in, breathing it in- he absorbed it.

In the door way stood Mickey Milkovich- the man who’d gotten Ian through all the tough shit with just the memory of his face.

Ian could remember how it felt as all the soldiers would lay around and talk about their wives and girlfriends. He hadn’t said a word when they asked him if he had someone back home, he just nodded a little and turned his back to the rest of the men. He didn’t want to be seen as different, he wanted to be seen as a fucking soldier and that’s what he got.

“Ian, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Mick. I missed you too.” Mickey sighed, Ian knew him. Ian knew the shit that was hard for Mickey to say sometimes.

Downstairs Lip dropped a pot; Ian jumped and he gripped his chest, panting slightly. “Fuck.”

Mickey stepped forward, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just wow. That got me.” Ian laughed. So Mickey smiled. That was it.

Mickey really didn’t know yet that that wasn’t it- that that pot hitting the floor had triggered something in Ian Gallagher. Because when that pot hit the floor that’s not what he heard- he heard gun shots and jets flying over his head, and men yelling orders at him. He felt the dirt that stuck to his face, he felt the gun in his hand and he saw a fading memory of Mickey Milkovich telling him to not leave him alone, to come back at all costs.

Later on that night when Mickey was tucked into Ian’s chest was when he found out that that wasn’t it.

Ian gripped him so hard he woke up. Ian was crying and thrashing his legs like he was running.

“Hey.” Mickey shoved his shoulder, “Ian, hey! Man, wake up! Stop!” Mickey sat up on his elbow, putting his hand on Ian’s cheek. “Ian, you’re okay! Just wake up!”

Ian wheezed out breaths, silent little whimpers escaping his lips. His legs stopped running, his hands grasped for the man lying next to him. “It’s so real. Mickey, it’s so real.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re home.” He tucked Ian’s head under his chin and rubbed his back as the red head began to shake, “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Mickey looked over at Carl, who was propped up on his elbow and looking down from his bunk bed. Even Liam, now 9 years old, sat up.

Carl hopped down, “I’ll get Fiona.” Mickey nodded and continued slightly rocking him and Ian back and forth.

“Mick,” Ian’s voice was barely a whisper. “I wanted to give up so many times.”

Mickey nodded again, “It’s okay. Just stop talking for a bit.”

“But I couldn’t leave you.” He curled more into Mickey. His voice seemed to get quieter, “I’d never leave you.”

Mickey felt his eyes tear up, “Okay. Listen, it’s okay.”

He saw Fiona running down the hallway; Carl on her tail saying, “I don’t know, he just started flipping the fuck out.”

Fiona and Mickey’s eyes connected.

Fiona’s thoughts said it all. _Oh fuck._

\--

Ian had stayed in bed that day with Mickey watching him and bringing him things. Sometimes he rubbed his arm or kissed his head, letting him know that no, Mickey was not a fading memory.

“Vee said it might be PTSD.” Fiona said when Mickey closed the fridge, she sat crisscross on the counter.

“PT- what the fuck?” Mickey said sipping the beer he’d just retrieved.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said it’s common in vets.” She scratched her arm, “He’s showing all the signs, Mick. Night terrors and you said he jumped out of his skin yesterday to Lip dropping the pot.”

“Okay, so two things proves he has some disorder? I don’t think so.” Mickey leaned against the sink.

She lowered herself to the floor, “It’s worth a shot taking him to the doctor, ya know.”

Carl and Debbie came through the door.

“How was school?” Fiona said, moving towards Carl.

“Fine. Ian still in bed?” Mickey nodded as Fiona grabbed the scarf from around the 17 year old’s neck.

“Yeah, and he’s gonna be pissed that you stole his scarf.”

Mickey noticed that Fiona tried to make everything positive for the sake of others.

“Not in bed, actually.” All eyes moved to the staircase where Ian stood smiling.

He wrapped his arm around Carl, “Why you stealing my stuff, huh?” He locked him in a choke hold.

Debbie started laughing at the boys fight. Mickey just smiled, hoping that the night before was the last of whatever happened to Ian.

\--

Mickey decided to take Ian to the Alibi to get the thoughts of the dream he had out of his mind and to maybe get him a little drunk just for the hell of it.

When they entered Kev opened his arms and said “Everyone! The red headed one has returned!”

Some cheers erupted from the drunken Alibi regulars. Ian laughed when a guy from the back yelled out “Fuckin’ Gallaghers!” Kev started to laugh when they figured out it was Frank who’d yelled it.

Mickey and Ian took a seat in front of Kev where two glasses where automatically put in their faces.

“Ian, I believe this is the first time I’m legally serving you. Twenty- two now, right?” Kev whipped a dish rag over his shoulder.

“Exactly right.” Ian leaned back bringing the glass to his lips, glancing at Mickey doing the same.

Kev then said, “So how was it, war hero?” Ian froze.

He felt dirt on his face again, he felt his heart beat pick up and his vision blur. He was out there again. Ducking behind something with Cael Dillon, one of the only friends he’d made. He sort of reminded him of Mickey- that’s why it hurt so badly when he couldn’t save him. He was no war hero. Cael had pushed him out of the way, he remembered.

_“He-” Cael coughed. “He needs you, Gallagher. Don’t,” He took a heavy sigh. “Don’t let me down, okay?”_

_Ian started calling for back up on his radio frantically, “We have a private down! Medical assistance needed! Private Dillon is down at coordinates-” Ian was stopped by the hand that came up to rest on his neck._

_“Mickey needs you. Get the fuck outta here before they shoot you too, Gallagher.” Ian started to pant, his throat started to close. He started to shake his head._

_Cael Dillon was the only man Ian had told about Mickey. In return he had told Ian of his time in orphanages and boys homes; Cael had said that he came to find family in the army and thank god he’d found Ian._

_Ian heard men running, “You’re gonna be okay! We’re gonna save you!”_

_Cael shook his head, his blue eyes bore into Ian’s. “I love you, brother.”_

_Cael had gotten into the habit of calling Ian brother months ago._

_Ian held the wound in Cael’s stomach, “Stop, this isn’t good bye! They’re coming just hold on, man!”_

_Cael laughed, “Tell Mickey to whip your ass into shape when you get back, huh? Tell him that you turned into a sissy here, staring at his picture like,” His face contorted in pain, “Like a damn girl.”_

_Where were the soldiers Ian had heard coming for them moments ago? “Cael,” Cael’s eyes started to un-focus._

_He wheezed out a laugh again, “Tell ‘im that he didn’t just keep you alive.” Ian wiped at his face, tears mixing with dirt. “Your stories about ‘im help me too, man. Tell ‘im that.”_

_Ian looked around frantically, he realized he was the only soldier not on the brink of dying for as far as he could see. “God, he must be funny as fuck, right?” Ian nodded putting more pressure on the wound._

_Ian noticed that Cael kept talking, like he was forcing himself to ware out and die. “One time,” Ian was trying to think of a game plan- a way to stand up with Cael over his shoulder without getting shot down. “He just got out of juvie,” Ian looked down as Cael listened intently like he always did when he told stories of his family. “And he just turned around, flipping off guards and yelling fuck yous.”_

_Cael laughed, actually, barely- he just made a gurgling sound with a low smile. “Fuckin’ wish I could’ve met him.”_

_Ian was about to say that he would meet Mickey but he saw no point in lying. Ian had failed him- he should’ve kept calling for assistance._

_“Thank you, brother.” Cael had dead eyes. His blonde hair seemed to fade._

_Ian didn’t know why but he kissed him. It wasn’t a kiss of love like he had for Mickey but a kiss of goodbye. Ian kissed his dead lips hoping to send him life, hoping that Cael would wake up and smile and say he was kidding._

_More shots fired down over Ian’s head. Fuck, he had to get out of there. He had to get to Mickey._

“Ian? Fuck, are you okay?” Mickey’s voice brought him back.

He had gotten to Mickey. He hoped somewhere Cael was looking down and seeing that he made it back to him.

Ian was sweating and his eyes were kind of bulging as he looked around the Alibi. Seconds ago he’d been on a war field with a dead man in his arms. “Y-yeah.”

“Fuck you are, Firecrotch.”

Mickey put money on the counter but Kev pushed it back at him muttering “On the house.”

Mickey grabbed Ian’s arm bringing him home.

Ian curled up in a ball not letting Mickey into bed that night. Mickey settled on the floor staring at the lump on Ian’s bed without sleeping.

\--

Within the next two weeks Ian was diagnosed with PTSD, was given some type of pill that Mickey had to practically shove down his throat, and was told to go to a therapist twice a week.

Ian had went, he mostly talked about Cael and the fact that every time he heard the front door slam he thought a bomb was going off.

Ian was sitting at the kitchen table when Mickey came in through that back door with a dog in his arms- a pit-bull.

“Why the fuck do you have a dog?” He blurted out. He had been reading over the notes his therapist gave him about coping with loud noises and tragic deaths.

Mickey put the pit-bull on the floor and it quickly waddled to Ian, “Read somewhere that animal therapy is good for people like you.” Mickey took a beer from the fridge.

“Oh yeah? And how does that work?” Ian looked disbelieving.

“Listen, you pet the fucking dog, he wags his tail, you get fucking happy- end of.” Ian rolled his eyes; Mickey swigged his beer. “And, he kind of reminds me of me. That’s bound to make you smile.” Mickey smirked.

Ian rolled his eyes again, “How does an ugly dog remind you of you?”

Picking up the dog, Mickey sat down at the table, “He’s rough and tough on the outside,” The dog licked Ian’s arm. “But on the inside he just wants to lick you all over, Gallagher.” He winked.

“You officially suck.” Ian said laughing.

“Eh, only for you.”

“Okay, you can stop now, Mick.” Mickey rose again, putting the dog down. “What’s his name?”

“D.D.” Mickey stated while pulling down a box of cereal from around the squirrel fund.

“That’s it? Does it stand for anything?” Ian said dully because he started reading his notes again, he lifted a cup of coffee to his lips.

“Yeah, Dick Destroyer.”

Ian sputtered on his coffee. “What the fuck, Mick?”

He filled his mouth with dry FruitLoops, “I said- He reminded me of me.” He winked again.

Ian didn’t know whether to laugh or call Mickey an asshole, so he did both.

\--

Fiona was working nights at some diner and Lip had taken the kids bowling- so Ian and Mickey were sitting on the couch watching some documentary about kittens. It was one of the only things that didn’t really freak Ian out. Mickey laughed and said it was animal therapy doing its magic.

Ian had his legs up on Mickey’s lap and the older man was rubbing his feet absentmindedly.

“Can you please change your dog’s name?” Ian said for the tenth time that week.

“No, he likes it. Yo, D.D.!” The dog waddled out of the kitchen and jumped on the couch next to Mickey.

Ian pulled his legs back and threw himself on the arm chair. “Fine, go ahead. Replace me with a dumb dog named Dick Destroyer.”

Mickey let his head fall back in laughter. Ian smiled, that’s what had saved him from death- that laugh.

“Really, Firecrotch?” Mickey stood and pulled at Ian’s arms till they fell back on to the couch together, Mickey sitting and Ian straddling his lap.

Ian let his mouth hover over Mickey’s. Mick moved forward catching Ian’s lips in his own.

Ian let out a groan when Mickey slid his tongue over his bottom lip; Ian pulled at the hair at the base of Mickey’s neck.

Gun shots and bombs falling sounded from the television- Ian attempted to cover Mickey’s body like he was trying to protect him and save him from oncoming shot fire.

“Ian.” Mickey rubbed his back, “Ian, it was just the TV.”

Ian’s body was moving violently with his breathing, his eyes were shut tight and head was shoved into the side of Mickey’s neck.

“Ian, come on. You’re okay. I’m okay. Nothing’s going on.” Mickey tried a calming voice. “Okay?”

Ian mumbled into his neck.

“What was that, mumbles?”

Ian pulled back, “I’m sorry.” He looked at the commercial for the World War II documentary on the screen, his face full of shame.

“It’s okay.” Mickey said cupping Ian’s neck in his hand then letting it slide down Ian’s chest. “You know you don’t have to apologize to me.”

Ian nodded but looked down at his hands that were fiddling over his and Mickey’s stomachs.

Mickey clicked the TV off, “Come m’ere.” He tucked Ian against him in a hug, he rubbed smooth circles into his back.

Ian sighed, humming lowly. Mickey’s saved him so many times so far in his life. He almost feels bad.

But Mickey’s like his soldier and they’re both finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda sad and stupid actually..  
> But wait- don't ya just love D.D.?  
> Anyway, please (I beg of thee) review!  
> And if you're feeling super spicy- get on over to my tumblr and give me a prompt or just say hi!: gallafics.tumblr.com


End file.
